Alliegance
by The Dark Knight's Revenge
Summary: When Allie Rivers stumbles upon a beaten Camaro in a junkyard, little does she know what Bumblebee really is, or what he has had to face in the two years since Sentinel's betrayal. A new threat is growing, and Sam is nowhere to be found. A hero is needed.


I sighed and flipped my sandy blonde hair over my shoulder, shielding my face from the bright sunlight. My sapphire eyes narrowed as I took in my surroundings.

To put it literally, I was in a junkyard.

About a mile from the podunk town I live in, is the skeletal junkyard I call my kingdom. I am an artist, which basically means that everyone else's treasure is my next sculpture. Junkyard? I think yes.

Allow me to introduce myself... I'm Allie. Allie Breeze-Sunshine Rivers. Pretty interesting name, huh? My parents were on the bit of the odd side when it came to names. Their best combination was the name of my dog, which they chose to call Bacon Waves.

Bacon Waves is the best dog, a black and white sheltie. He follows me everywhere.

My parents were artists, just like me. They died a couple years ago when Chicago was taken over by the alien ships. They were on a trip to see their paintings put up in a museum. The museum was crushed along with half the other stuff in Chicago.

I never saw them again.

Now I live with my Uncle, who's okay. He can have a nasty temper, but he lets me stay out at the junkyard during the summer as long as I come back eventually.

I kicked a rusty can across the dirt ground of the junkyard, walking along the piles. I kept my eyes peeled for interesting objects. Bacon Waves tagged along at my heels, panting in the heat. I smiled as he barked whenever the can clanged loudly.

At nineteen, I was pretty tall, luckily inheriting my mom's figure. My straight blonde hair growing down to my waist and blue eyes sparkling. I attracted a few looks from the boys at Community College.

Something shiny caught my eyes, hidden behind a large and dented garbage can. I had been by this certain can quite a few times before, but nothing had been behind it before. I saw a flash of yellow as I drew closer, and my curiosity was officially piqued.

I climbed over the dumpster, gasping when I saw what lay behind.

In this dusty crater of a junkyard, in a spot I had seen many times before, lay a car.

Not just any car, but a beaten, old, dirty, ragged Chevy Camaro. Black detailing to boot.

I didn't have a car of my own, so if I could salvage this baby, I would be golden. Sliding off the back of the can, I ran to go look in the windows. Inside, it was remarkably clean looking. I tried the door.

Unlocked.

Barely able to hold back my squeals of laughter, I opened the door to the car and dove in, shrieking with joy. I could hear Bacon Waves whining as he tried to find a way to come to me.

The first thing I noticed was that the car had an odd logo on the steering wheel... Instead of the usual Chevy insignia, it had a little helmet. I traced it with my fingertips, wondering what kind of whack-job would go to al the trouble just to put a little helmet on the wheel...

The interior was impeccably clean, compared to the outside. Everything was in great shape.

Only one problem remained...

No keys.

My heart and hopes fell as I searched around. Of course there weren't any, who leaves the keys in a perfectly good car in the middle of a dump? Bacon Waves nosed my hand, having found a way to me at last and eager to help. He jumped in the open door and trotted across my lap so he was riding shotgun.

I growled as my dog's poky paws used my stomach as a springboard. I ruffled his head anyways, reaching over to the glovebox. Bacon Waves whined.

I opened the glovebox, surprised when a bunch of papers fell out. I gathered them, laying them in a pile by Bacon Waves. No keys were to be found. I frowned.

A letter floating near the top of the paper pile caught my eye as I leaned back in my seat.

My heart began to pound as I read the initials on the letter.

My eyes darted to the symbol on the wheel, my breath escalating.

On the yellowed envelope were four letters even I knew the acronym for.

N.E.S.T.

The government branch that dealt with Autobots; Good and Bad.

But how was I to know what side this car was on? This car I was sitting in, weaponless and powerless to stop it from crushing me...

A mechanical thrum began to sound from somewhere in the car, and my blood froze.


End file.
